The Other War
by archer hates you
Summary: A retelling of Death Note with one minor twist -- that has a major impact.
1. L: intro

The day a high school student picked up a notebook, the course of a detective's life changed. Though the detective didn't know this at the time.

Under normal circumstances, murder cases were, unfortunately, run-of-the-mill. But this was never a normal case; from the very beginning it had the smell of the occult. Perhaps that should have been the first sign that things would always be challenging for the side of Good, even throughout a bloody stalemate tipping in Good's favor.

However that's what made it interesting, too. The fewer the rules, the cleverer the plot. And the higher the stakes. The investigation would likely claim many more lives; in fact the detective would almost certainly be killed. But that risk was more than worth it. This would prove to be a worthy exercise.

Of course it wasn't an exercise. It was real life and real people were dying. But take anything too seriously, become too attached, and it was much more likely to fail. It was best to remain distanced, an untainted observer.

Not that being the lead investigator meant that one was distanced. Just the opposite, in fact: the spearhead of the very mission, the tip of the sword, the first of the front lines was hardly untainted. But L had always taken precautions to hide that most precious commodity: identity. No, that wasn't the issue. It was emotional distance.

Luckily, that had never been terribly difficult to maintain. Perhaps that made the detective a cold human being. But that was of little significance. Turning this reality into a simple exercise increased the chances of success considerably. Because what was it that mattered in the end—the unfailing extraction of a mass murderer, or the investigative team's bedside manner?

Besides—what good was such a brain if one wouldn't make the best of it? L owed it to the world to remain detached.

That in itself was a great sacrifice.


	2. Light: intro

The high school student, on the other hand, knew from the very beginning that the course of his life had been changed. That is what he had decided, of course, and it was so. But the end he had devised was not what was to become of him. Perhaps he hadn't devised enough about his end, didn't think on it adequately. That may have been his biggest mistake. Though the student didn't know this at the time.

Straightforward allies would be impossible. No matter how faithful an ally might be, Light would never trust him fully. This was too big to rely on other people. Ryuk said it himself—humans are interesting. That meant that humans are imperfect, humans lie, and even with the best and most honest intentions, humans fail.

But Light was a god. He could never afford to place his full trust in a human being. Hell, he couldn't even trust his shinigami, how could a human be any more reliable? No—his allies would have to be manipulated even more than his enemies. A vague trust was all Light really required; he'd do all the rest himself.

Because if you want something done right, you have to do it on your own.

That had served him well thus far. He had stayed several paces ahead of everything the investigators had sent his way. It wasn't difficult to do, as he was the one set them up, anyway. The only clues they had were what he chose to leave behind; the clues he left always led them in just the direction he wanted. He didn't _want _to be afraid that he was the world's number one most wanted criminal. Like Ryuk, he wanted to have some fun while changing the world.

Wasn't a god entitled to that?


	3. L: ruminations

Certain things were obvious about Kira from the start.

First of all, that he wanted attention. It might have been an odd thing for a serial murderer to want, as one most likely didn't want to be caught and attention led to that sort of thing. But if another thing was true about Kira, then wanting attention made sense. That thing was megalomania. And given the little snuff film they'd just seen—a flashy televised display of killing power—delusions of grandeur weren't implausible.

He could have been an agent of redemption, silently cleansing the world of criminals without taking the credit. Doing the 'right' thing when no one is watching. That would have been called integrity. It might have even been laudable, L had to admit that. But Kira had chosen to go public. That meant he was selfish, needy, egocentric. And probably psychopathic. In order to kill on such a grand scale, one had to have a certain inborn willingness to do it, an innate _want_ for it. It could have been that killing criminals was just a way to rationalize his unbridled desire to kill—no matter how subliminal that desire.

That Kira was remaining just above the radar also meant that he was a willing participant in this chase. Kira was far too careful to do anything without meaning to. The fact that the investigators knew as much as they did was a testament to that. With a power as seemingly unlimited as what they'd just been shown, Kira could have afforded not to show them anything at all. In fact it might have been _easier_ to remain invisible. Why leave bread crumbs if you don't have to—especially when antagonistic parties are sure to follow?

This wasn't about punishing the evil. This wasn't simply a means to gain global recognition. He wasn't taking it all seriously enough—and he had room not to, given the physical distance between him and his victims. Maybe that lack of physical involvement, as with a knife or even a gun, made it feel unreal. Of no consequence. _Fun_. This was all game to Kira. He was merely playing, distanced as he was, with lives as his pawns. A rook here, a knight there—and L was the prize king to be captured.

It was nothing personal. L was 95 percent sure of that.


	4. Light: reflections

But this L character was really starting to wear on him. The incident with the broadcast had all but humiliated him. Of course no one knew it was _Light_, but now there was at least a small reason to doubt Kira—invincible and infallible no more. Even though word would get out, at least it wasn't a global broadcast. Time would dilute the loss.

He really thought he had him. Light would have to be much more careful. L probably wouldn't try this same trick again, now that the cat was out of the bag. Still, maybe it was beneficial to slip up on occasion. You couldn't stay ahead of the game if you didn't understand the other player's strategy. Falling victim to L on occasion would have its advantages; it would expose his methods. Every little clue was valuable, and losing some rounds proved to produce some of the most vital clues. Light was willing to take a few hits.

Who was this L, anyway? Surely this person wasn't stupid enough to think that this was a terrible thing, what Kira was doing. If L were really smart, he'd have to admit that there was something to this, killing criminals as punishment and preventative action. It made sense, and several governments around the world agreed, according to their policies. L probably recognized that; he wouldn't have made it this far if he didn't understand Kira's thought processes at least a little.

But L had to believe in himself, as well. If he only went after Kira to fulfill his lawful duty, if he didn't believe in the cause wholeheartedly, then he wouldn't be putting his back into it and this wouldn't _be_ as fulfilling a cat-and-mouse chase. In fact, Light was rather grateful for an intelligent adversary. The Death Note itself _was_ infallible, and going up against someone with real brains made this mundane operation more thrilling.

It was almost too bad he had to make it personal.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the continued philosophical ramblings. I'm still laying the groundwork. The twist will be coming up here shortly, I promise.


	5. L: candidate

It was worrisome that Misora Naomi had disappeared. Equally worrisome was the feeling that there was nothing that could be done about it, the feeling that L had already lost. The feeling was like pinpointing a distant mirage; no amount of squinting sharpened the image one iota. And who knew what you might find once you actually reach the thing.

They wouldn't like it, and L had foreseen that, but the task force had been ordered to keep watch over two of the families Penber had followed, as there was a very high probability that Kira belonged to one of those families.

L already had a favorite candidate.

L had told Yagami-san that the chances of any one of his family members being Kira were less than ten percent, five percent, et cetera. Really, those numbers were meaningless. Really, those numbers meant more like over ninety percent. But it was pointless to worry a good father, a good man, at least while it was still possible to keep him in the dark.

The whole idea was just too perfect. Even without a power like Kira's, someone in Yagami Light's position would have to be struck deaf, dumb, and blind not to recognize the endless criminal possibilities before him. Charisma, brains, and friends (or a father) in high places accorded one all manners of inside information. He wouldn't be easily outfoxed.

And then there was the matter of how to get him to reveal himself. All criminals philosophically skewed as Kira screw up eventually, there was no doubting that. But L couldn't wait for the eventual. It had to be forced out of him, the sooner the better. It would be a testy week, tense, and probably not even worth it. Kira wouldn't give himself away without some difficulty; somehow, he _would_ evade detection this time. And still L would have faith that Light was Kira. L chided the reasoning somewhat; Light was damned if he did, damned if he didn't.

Then again that's probably just what Kira was after.

And really, with a name like Yagami, one might think it was his own choice whether or not he was damned.


	6. Light: notice

"_Kawaii!!"_

"Ears, Sayu."

"But look at her! She's so cute I could just kill her."

_I would be happy to, if you'd stop shouting at the TV._

"Hey, check this out, guys." Sayu was leaning into the television, peering at a notice running along the top of the screen. "Looks like they're sending in fifteen hundred new agents to cover the Kira case."

_Oh gads._ No way that was true; the three of them were being watched, so who knew what kind of crap they were being fed. But even if this was just being broadcast in a limited area, like the Lind L. Tailor fiasco, as long as he was careful he could comment intelligently without seeming suspicious.

"Something tells me that's only strategy. If Kira's smart at all, he'll see right through this."

And he did. He knew now that L was watching, and it was finally showtime.

"_Light_—chips after _dinner_?" She ogled the bag in his hand. He hoped it didn't look too weighty.

"It's for later. I'll be up late studying for sure."

"Always so diligent, Light," said his mother warmly.

Sayu narrowed her eyes. "You're going to get fat, you know." Still, she smiled approvingly. She did love her big brother.

It was kind of goody-goody of them. L would probably see through all that just as easily as Light had seen through this Interpol ruse. But Light could guarantee that no one else on the task force would see through it. Even if L wasn't convinced, it wouldn't do much good if no one else was. L would be left to his own unease while the others wasted their time on worthless leads.

In any case, this L was becoming a real menace, and there would certainly be much worse to come. After all, L had been doing this for a living for much longer than Light had lived as Kira. It was bad enough that Light had just dropped 40,000 big ones that would probably be thrown away. Maybe that was the least of his concerns, but _still_. It was L's own fault if Kira did catch up to him in the end. Shouldn't be so damn cunning.

The rule-writer shouldn't lose at his own game.

A god shouldn't fail.


	7. L: test

Fine then. It was L's turn for a little bit of fun.

Entrance exams were no big deal, it had all been done before. For maximum effect, however, L's score had to match Light's. He had been placing first in national exams consistently for a while now, so L knew exactly how much effort was needed to match him. As this feat was nothing that couldn't be handled, there was plenty of time to play.

Just a glance. L needed to draw attention; not much, just enough to create a passing memory. Subtlety was key. Well—as subtle as was possible. Total normalcy was a bit of a stretch, that fact had been accepted long ago.

The proctor approached, looking stern. "You there, number one-six-two—" _Me?_ "Sit correctly in your seat."

_May I remain barefoot?_

Before the order could be obeyed—not that L actually meant to—eyes started wandering, trying to find the source of trouble. So many eyes, but hardly the pair most wanted. The seconds ticked past; it was almost too late. What else might have to be done to get his attention?

To L's relief, the muscles on the back of Yagami's neck went taut, his chin sheepishly touched his shoulder, his small eyes reached back to find the disruption.

It had certainly been long enough that there were no other prying eyes to indicate the culprit, but L's personality was rather conspicuous as it was. There was no way that this genius could pass over the detective without a second thought.

Yagami's gaze lingered over L for a few moments too long; somewhat embarrassed at his own brazen boldness, he snapped to face forward again. But the damage was done. Whether the target knew it or not, first contact had been made.


	8. Light: L

He knew that he had tied with someone else, but they had yet to meet. He didn't even know the person's name. Maybe it was on the program, but Light hadn't picked one up. Whatever, his mom would get one for the family to keep. That he had only _tied_ for first was just frustrating enough that he needed proof. Not that anything could have been done differently, as they had both achieved perfect scores. It still pissed him off.

Suddenly Light was snatched up and placed in line to approach the stage, and he felt someone being placed just behind him. The other top-scorer. He wouldn't be able to see who it was until they were onstage.

Light got some odd vibes as they stood facing their applause, and he refrained from taking a peek as he was announced. Of course he kept his cool, but it took much of his strength to focus as he presented his freshman address. Finally he backed down, allowing his counterpart to step forward.

And what a _clown_. This girl was a sight. First of all, her carriage. Her willowy frame might have been lovely if not for her staggering gait and origami posture, reminiscent of good old Ryuk. Her build indicated her age; young, but more an adult than Light. (An older student returning to school? Ex-hikikomori? No wonder the perfect score. It hardly seemed fair.) She wore the body of an ex-dancer—long-limbed, lean, with the hint of a newfound sedentary lifestyle—but there was no mistaking her for a ballerina, past or present, with that outlandish posture.

She dangled her speech in front of her face from her fingertips as though it were evidence that she didn't want to touch. Light expected a meek and stuttering voice, but as she began she spoke with an intelligent, if not bored, cadence, as though this were an irritating obligation and the real show was about to start. What the hell else today was more pressing than giving your freshman address?

Speaking of which, her appearance was less than impressive. Her hair was a dark, shaggy mess, an afternoon too oily, and her thinness was masked by baggy men's jeans she'd probably worn every week for five years and a loose-fitting white shirt, perhaps just as aged but regularly bleached. No socks inside her yellowed tennis shoes, their soft backs permanently collapsed from being folded in and walked on for so long, the laces frayed and hanging free. Hem of her jeans in tatters. Wrinkled shirt. Come _on_. This was a prestigious ceremony. Light was glad he hadn't foregone the tie for a more casual look; maybe they were tied for brains, but Light was miles ahead of this whack job in professionalism.

When they were released from the stage, Light led them down to their reserved seats in the front of the audience. With a vague sidelong awareness, Light watched her. A shameless observer, her average eyes were widened to a constant scrutiny. Maybe it was just his Death Note-related paranoia, but he felt that those eyes were always on him. And not in a flattering way. Well, perhaps that was how she intended it, but there was something very off-putting about the directness of her gaze. He took each step with unwavering confidence to counter his unrest. Mind over matter.

She said his name quietly, yet not quite bothering to whisper.

"What?"

"Son of Detective-Superintendent Yagami Soichiro?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I want to tell you something. But you mustn't say a word to anyone else."

_Whatever, freak_. "Sure."

She paused just long enough to make him truly uncomfortable before whispering, _"I am L."_


	9. L: Kira

The reaction was no less than she had expected. Besides a little twitch under one eye, which could be interpreted any number of ways, there was no indication of shock or panic. Either he had no idea what she was talking about, or this was the cool, collected face of Kira. And there was something far too confident about the way he stood there. He had surely already come to the conclusion that the name Ryūga Hideko was blatantly unreal, so unless he wanted to risk a dead pop star, there would be no use in even attempting to kill her here and now. He'd have to sing for that supper.

Curious; he offered up his palm for a handshake. Looked good in front of an audience, she supposed. She allowed him these small social victories; initiating the handshake, looking so prim and put-together against her disheveled appearance. He was the one concerned with outward appearances, anyway. She was more concerned with inner turmoil.

And oh, most certainly did he hate this.

He shook his loose bangs out of his eyes with cool-kid flair. "In that case, I applaud your work. You have my full respect and admiration."

_Sure thing, cowboy._

Leaving her shoes on the floor, she delicately leapt into her reserved seat, hugged her knees, buried her chin in her arms. For now she would keep her eyes to herself, instead relying on periphery. He took his place next to her, hands on his thighs. Sat up straight, didn't blink too much, didn't cross his arms or link his fingers—totally open. So there was nothing he wanted to hide. But with his hands balled up into comfortable fists, she could only assume he was poised for a fight.

Suddenly he relaxed fully. Flattened out his hands, slid his feet away from the chair, set his shoulders down. Must have just finished up a little personal pep talk. She took a barefaced look at him to contrast her earlier lack of eye contact. Nothing sidelong now and he might not realize she'd taken note of his transparent body language.

And there was no mistaking it. Those fists had not just been for self-defense. No, he was much too secure for that. He wanted this fight, because he knew he couldn't lose. It was not about the fight in the least; he only wanted the win.

And yet it was clear that he didn't feel like a winner today.

And that would suffice for now.


	10. Light: strategy

So L was a girl.

That would take some getting used to.

He'd always imagined L as a man. Not a terribly old man, as L's moves had been both calculated and risky, something a normal, aged detective wouldn't have the gall for. He couldn't say as he'd ever imagined L to be any older than his own father. Like a grad school dropout that was more criminal than lawman and just _way_ too smart for institutional education. But even that image was liberal. L in his mind was usually an emotionless lab rat, bred to be all brain—all left brain, at that, the kind of guy that thought in graphs and equations instead of Japanese, with some creepy organization pulling his strings. Just short of robot.

And what reason did he have to doubt that L was a machine? Obviously L had an identity to protect, but when the only thing you show the outside world is a capital letter clouded by noise and a phonetically garbled voice . . . the whole affair feels artificial.

But now L had made the first move.

Hypothetically.

Because what if this chick really wasn't L? First of all, the real L would have some serious balls, sending such a freak to speak for him. That'd be a good strategy though. A non-L that harebrained couldn't possibly instill fear in anyone. Kira's not afraid, he lets his guard down. L wins.

Light didn't like that.

And if she weren't really L, she was pretty ballsy too. Everyone knew who Kira was and what he did; even if he didn't have her real name, he knew her face, and that was half the battle. Would she really place herself in such a slippery situation just because some detective was too chicken to step forward himself?

Hell, it could have just been a prank. She mentioned the Kira case, but she hadn't accused Light of anything. Maybe she was just some sheltered home-schooler and this was her best idea at having some fun. And why shouldn't she tease her only intellectual competition?

But that wasn't it. This girl _was_ L. That much was certain. And she'd made a brilliant move—for what it was. Her coming forward like this just meant she didn't have a whit of evidence on him. He was free to just bide his time, lure her in, butter her up. . . .

And there it was.

Light was a charming guy, right? A little sweet-talking would go a long way with someone like her. The world's greatest detective could still be lonely, insecure—especially if she were a woman. For now she was just Ryūga, and suspicious as they were of one another, they'd just be friends. But he would change her mind. A little seducing, and he'd have her trust in the end. There was no doubting that.

This would be a piece of cake.

* * *

A/N: Cake, lolz. Anyway I was just thinking about the potato chip trick. You'd think that the LCD screen would reflect off the shiny insides of the bag, or Light's pen when he wrote . . . hmm.


	11. L: tennis

He would have his doubts that she really was L. He would have to test the waters no matter which way be believed. And the longer he sat on it, the more time she had to watch.

It would also provide an excellent opportunity to gather tangible evidence that he was Kira. He'd passed the round-the-clock-observation test with flying colors, but there was still something to him. Popular, yes; antisocial, perhaps. Antisociality, after all, was general the disregard for the rights of others, for societal norms. To subscribe to all of society's norms to a T, down to the girlie mags, was more than a little grotesque. Every normal person has some sort of abnormal hobby. Abnormal people take normality to a whole other level. Bastardize it. On the other hand, Light was less aggressive than the average sociopath. In fact aggression was lacking entirely. That's what was most suspicious.

So she had to do something to coax out that aggression. Maybe it was a little ostentatious, challenging him to tennis. Perhaps suggestive to spectators of some other underlying relationship. She wasn't a great gauge for broad social opinion, but certainly any outsiders would assume she was out of his league, if not in academics, then in athletics and love. That would make it interesting if she were to win. Two out of three ain't bad, so to speak. Besides, his reaction would be a wonderfully sweet clue.

Still, she had promised herself to let him keep his public reputation. That she privately burned away at his conscience was quite enough. If he had a conscience at all, that is.

She really did rather hate losing.

She pulled her laces tight. Double knot.

That punk. He'd do everything in his power to outplay her in this one set. He would probably overthink every step to try and outsmart her, as though winning or losing might have merit as far as proving his innocence. All that work would be for naught, as that wasn't even the point here.

Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.


	12. Light: aftershock

When Ryūga won her fourth game, Light felt the sweat on his skin prickling with an extra . . . madness.

And then she won the fifth. And the muscles in his face stiffened.

Heading into their tenth game, he knew he could catch up. He was completely centered; no reason to panic now. He breathed deep, returned precisely, smartly, more so than in the previous games.

And the ball bounced right past him.

Back slightly hunched as usual again, Ryūga inspected the strings of her racquet. The crowd stared on in awe. Surely they'd looked up Light, found his tennis champion history. And now he'd lost to some nameless waif?

She was approaching the net; absently he did the same, because it was just right. No need to be a sore loser. She offered up her hand.

The fucking _nerve_.

He smiled patronizingly as his hardened face would allow, returning the handshake.

"Let me ask you something, Ryūga."

"Just a moment."

She tugged on his hand to pull closer to him, whispered in his ear.

"I suspect that you are Kira."

She didn't linger or even look at his face, but let go, casual. Ran a hand through her limp hair.

Light shook the sweat from his own hair as he squatted down to stretch out. To focus his anger he admired the ends; he really was in need of a trim.

It was infuriating. What part of this goddamn test had he failed? He had even _lost_, wouldn't Kira have been able to prevent that? Wouldn't Kira not be able to handle that? He hadn't _planned_ to lose, but that was beside the point. Had he overreacted?

"Nothing to worry about, really," she added. "Just one percent or so. I do hope to get your name cleared," she said, patting him on the shoulder, "as I could use your assistance on this case."

He had managed to kill while he was under 24-hour surveillance, but here she was, accusing him to his face. So would it matter if he had passed this test too? She was two wings shy of batshit crazy; there was probably no reasoning with her. And now that she'd said the words, even if it _were_ just a one percent chance, he was totally in the doghouse until she proved him innocent.

_She got me again._

"Did you want to ask me something, Yagami?"

He had already snatched her little wrist before he regained total control of himself. He relaxed his grip as immediately as he could, but it might have been too late. He hung on limply, trying to make it look friendly.

"Hey, hey." Light looked up to meet the eyes of one of the older spectators—a teacher, a coach, maybe. He smiled tentatively. "The young lady didn't embarrass you _that _bad, did she?"

Light shuddered with incredulity as Ryūga answered, "It's nothing to be concerned about. He was simply inviting me to coffee to cool down."

The teacher seemed suspicious, but shrugged it off before wandering away from them. Definitely a coach looking to recruit.

"So, Yagami. I believe there are some things we have to discuss, but it would be best to vacate."

"Yeah, I think so. Coffee it is."

And now he was _really_ digging himself in deep.

When he had conceived of seduction, he hadn't quite meant for it to be a public event.


End file.
